


When Eyes Cannot See

by llaras



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean RPF
Genre: F/M, Foursome - F/M/M/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:09:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4739063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llaras/pseuds/llaras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fleeting philosophical ponderings and some nekkidness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Eyes Cannot See

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my queen, [](http://sparky77.livejournal.com/profile)[sparky77](http://sparky77.livejournal.com/) because she comment-y meat. No beta or very much editing at all as this was written in one sitting; a stream-of-consciousness type thing and I was pleased with the shape of it, like a cool stone orb, sitting heavy in my palm.

it's long after midnight and keira and jack are asleep on the sofa. she has lost a sock. jack has not, but his shirt is missing two buttons. also, his pants. there is a bite mark on the flesh just above the bare knee peeking from behind a drape of keira's blue silk skirt. orlando can't remember who put it there. he's mostly certain it wasn't him.

johnny has been watching them for some time, a thoughtful look on his face. orlando has been counting and though it is not exact, he knows that johnny has not taken his eyes off of them for at least five minutes.

he and johnny are lying on the floor on a bedsheet. there are half empty glasses and bits of this and that on plates everywhere. cigarette butts and crumpled paper napkins, bread crusts and orange peels and chocolate wrappers. an impromptu picnic.

what if you were blind, johnny asks. what if everyone lied about your other senses becoming more finely-tuned and sharp and you kept waiting and waiting to hear a pin drop from across a crowded room or to smell the faded essence-of-some-flower soap that a woman walking down the street bathed in that morning.

what if nothing changed but the fact that you couldn't see anymore. no more reds or yellow. no more stars and moon.

he is almost mumbling, but orlando can hear him clearly if he concentrates.

are strawberries still red and bananas yellow? do things taste like colours? peppers are red and they taste nothing like strawberries. do you somehow forget what colours are? is that possible?

can you find the night sky with only cool air and stillness and memory to guide you? what do you wish upon when you don't see the shooting star even though it's right there in front of you?

what would that be like?

orlando takes the joint away from johnny.

are you always like this when you get high, he asks.

yes, johnny says solemnly. yes i am.

and what if, johnny starts again. but orlando has had enough speculation.

let's find out, he says.

they do not have real blindfolds, so they fashion them out of t-shirts instead. johnny's is red and has a blackbird on it. orlando's is just green. not quite forest green, he thinks, but almost.

they go about discovering in completely opposite ways. orlando heads toward where he knows the door is and once he's explored the frame and cool metal of the handle he goes left, cautiously, one hand on the wall, the other stretched out in front. he's afraid he will stub a toe. he knows he is too stoned to feel real pain, knows he will regret it tomorrow if he injures something.

there's a last slice of pie out there on the floor somewhere. he's trying not to imagine what cold peaches will feel like between his toes.

johnny has no plan, it seems, no map, no method. he leaves a string of curses behind as he walks into the glass of the patio door, as he trips over pillows and knocks his shins on random things.

orlando has made his way to the sofa now and he doesn't want to disturb the sleepers. he can hear keira's soft snores, even if she denies their existence, so he takes his hand off the wall and steps out into empty space.

the room is suddenly bigger. and quiet.

where are you, he wants to ask.

*****

the kiss is slow and gentle and orlando doesn't want it to stop, but he has to know.

did you hear me? could you smell me? how did you find me?

johnny says, you taste like licorice, did you eat licorice? orlando knows he is frowning.

no, he asks. he isn't even quite sure himself.

what colour does it taste like, he asks. what colour do i taste like?

but they are interrupted by a groggy jack and a tossed throw pillow. you are mad, he says.

orlando asks, who?

johnny says, thank you.

 

*****

the sofa isn't big enough for them all, so johnny and orlando let themselves be led to the bed. keira tightens their makeshift blindfolds. shall we ravish you, she asks playfully.

jack snorts and pushes orlando onto the bed. let them guess who, he says. keira giggles.

orlando can feel johnny next to him; he is still, but orlando can sense that he is alert, waiting for the other two to make their move.

after a hushed conference the side of the bed dips slightly and there are cool fingertips tracing over orlando's ears and neck and mouth. the touches are so light and careful, he's almost certain it is keira.

but once warm lips meet his own and he tastes spice and beer and forceful tongue he knows that it is jack. and then keira is there too and johnny is moaning next to him.

for a fleeting second he knows what colour to name this moment. but it changes so quickly. it cannot be separated into just taste or smell or sound. it's a kaleidoscope of all those things. because when it gets intense and he's naked and hard and yearning and he cannot sort out what hands are touching where or whose mouth is sucking there, when he's hurtling towards orgasm there are no words to describe what it feels like to be so aware and completely in the dark all at once.

orlando tries to remember this, to tell johnny later, but he doesn't.

and then it is morning.

orlando wakes up to long legs and strong arms tangled in sheets, breasts in his face and a hardening cock against his arse.

oh, he thinks, we must have gotten really wasted last night. also, something about shooting stars and fruit and licorice.

everyone else is still asleep, so he stays in bed and watches them until his eyes get heavy and the room goes dark again.


End file.
